


Tangled

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Dark, First Love, Friendship, M/M, Post canon, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-06
Updated: 2005-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After his innocence was destroyed, Kyle loses his love of life.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/???, Kyle Broflovski/Christophe "The Mole"
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Kyle

I feel gritty, dirty, and lifeless. I can't even look at myself without shuddering. My red hair is matted, full of dirt and grime; I can't be bothered to wash it. My once bright green eyes no longer shine; they haven't shined since my innocence was taken from me.

I was always the more innocent of my friend; with a mother like mine, how else could I be? Kenny has a filthy mouth, Cartmen has a filthy mother, and Stan has a constant on and off relationship with Wendy. What do I have? A mother who doesn't let me live my own life, a father who doesn't listen, and a brother who becomes more selfish by the day.

I know I shouldn't complain, that I should be grateful. I know that there are people worse off than me, who are starving and close to death. Nevertheless, every morning I relive the moments when my innocence was stolen from me.

When I wake up in the mornings, I no longer think about the wonderful things I am to encounter, no longer reminisce over the previous day. Now I wake up and feel like shouting, screaming at God for not answering my prayers; for not letting me die during my sleep.

This morning is just the same; I wake up, and feel like screaming. Instead, I stretch, trying to bring life into my numbing limbs. I force my self to get out of bed and make my way down the hall, into the bathroom.

It seems like a lifetime when I finally open the door and stumble inside. I lean over the basin and throw up. The foul, acidic taste burns the back of my throat.

The taste of bile makes me brush my teeth and wash my face. With what little self-respect I have, I study myself, making sure I'm clean. Some of it got on my wrist. I pause before I wash it off.

I trace the long blue vein on my wrist, thinking of the thick red blood that flows through it. I enjoy the slight tickling sensation my fingers give me, but I need something more, something to make me forget. I need to escape from this nightmare.

Slowly, I reach over to the pearly white sink and finger the knife lying on top. It looks so innocent, harmless, but it will be my release. I tremble slightly as I pick up the silver blade, knowing what is to happen next.

I press it against my skin, softly at first, only to enjoy the feeling of cool metal on skin. Then I press down, forcing the knife in harder, deeper, tracing my vein. Quickly, I switch hands and slice up my opposite wrist in the same fashion.

My head begins to spin, the combined sensations of pleasure and pain forcing me to fall onto the icy-cold tiles. My head throbs, and my vision begins to blur. I raise my wrist to my mouth and suck hard; I relish the taste of my own blood.

I hear a sharp; high-pitched scream, my mother. I laugh, thinking of what I must look like to her; an empty shell. The last thing I hear is her calling my father's name before I black out completely.

Escape is mine.


	2. Sheila

_I've always prided myself on being a good mother. I loved my boys, protected them from the world, tried to do the best I could for them. Somewhere along the line, I failed._

_Have you ever felt the sting of failure? I have on many occasions. Firstly with the war, I failed the children by letting the Canadian scum live. I failed Ike, by letting him grow up as he has, coddling him over everything. Finally, I failed Kyle._

_I failed him by never listening to him, always shutting him out. I should have trusted him, I didn't think that he'd make good decisions on his own. I never trusted him enough to make his own choices, never letting him live his own life. I failed him._

_There are many ways to fail someone, but to fail someone as a mother, that is hell._

" _Mazel Tov_ Kyle," the Rabbi slurred, patting Kyle on the head. "Your Mother told me that you'll be starting eleventh grade instead of ten."

"Yes Rabbi," Kyle politely replied, slightly nodding his head. "I was skipped forwards a year because of my continuously high academic standards," Kyle continued, quoting his mother.

"Kyle, you have a great journey ahead of you," the Rabbi stated, resting a hand on Kyle's forehead. " _Boruch Atoh_ Kyle."

"Get up, get up, get up," Kyle's mum shouted, pulling the bed covers off of him.

"Mum," Kyle shouted, grabbing the covers and trying to shield himself. "I could have been naked."

"I've seen you naked before, it's no big deal," she snapped, opening the curtains. "Now hurry up and get dressed, it's your first day of eleventh grade and you don't want to miss it."

After his mother had left, Kyle slowly wriggled his way out of bed and closed the curtains. He searched for his wardrobe for suitable clothes; he knew if his mother didn't approve he would be made to change. He soon found a presentable pair of black pants, and a white shirt. After getting dressed and putting on his old green ski cap, he made his way down to breakfast. Then the day really began

"Bye, mom!" Kyle shouted, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll tell you all about it! Come on, Ike."

"Yeah, yeah… I'm coming," Ike muttered, grabbing his own bag. "I don't need you to walk me to the bus stop, you know."

"I know," Kyle said, grinning. "But my stop is just around the corner, and I don't want anything to happen to my widdle baby bwother."

Kyle opened the door and stepped outside. It was quite warm for South Park; a pleasant breeze was making the rubbish that littered the ground roll down the street. Kyle jumped slightly as his brother slammed the front door behind them.

"See you later," Kyle shouted at his brother, waving him goodbye. Kyle quickly walked to the corner and stopped. He could see four or five figures already standing there waiting.

' _Okay, Broflovski,_ ' he thought, running a hand through his red locks. ' _You can do this, Stan is catching the bus from the same stop, it'll be cool. It'll be fine_.'

Slowly, Kyle made his way to the bus stop. He tried to avoid looking at the figures ahead, but he couldn't help it. He had an inquisitive nature.

"Kyle, hey, Kyle," a familiar voice hollered, causing Kyle to break into a grin. "Over here!"

"Stan," Kyle shouted, running up to his friend. "How was your weekend?"

"Not good," Stan muttered, taking a step back from his friend. "Wendy and I broke up."

Kyle nodded sympathetically, just as he was supposed to do. Stan and Wendy had been dating on and off since they were in third grade. He used to care, but now he knew that it would only be a temporary thing.

"Looking forward to school then?" Kyle asked, trying to change the subject.

"No," Stan snapped, glaring at his friend. "Wendy will be there… what is her problem? Am I just not good enough for her? What did I do wrong?"

"Maybe you should find another girl," Kyle suggested, resting his hand on Stan's arm. "She's not worth-"

"So I'm not good enough for her, then," Stan continued, stepping away from Kyle. "I'm not worth anything? Not worth anything to who? Wendy? _You_?"

"Stan," Kyle replied, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't mean-"

"Didn't mean what?" Stan snarled. "Didn't mean that I'm not worth it?"

"Stan."

"Didn't mean that she's-"

"Stan!" Kyle shouted, earning himself a glare. "The bus is here."

Kyle slowly shuffled behind Kenny, Cartman and Stan. They were making their way to homeroom, except that Kyle was in a different homeroom; he was with the other eleventh graders. However, Kyle being who he was, he hadn't told his friends yet.

"This is so crappy," Cartman said stridently, throwing a half-eaten subway sandwich into the trash can. "Why do we have to sign into homeroom every morning?"

"So they know we're at school, Cartman," Kyle mumbled, tucking his red curls back under his hat. "They mark the morning roll there."

"And why are we with the same people as last year?" Cartman continued, ignoring Kyle.

"Because we will probably be with familiar faces," Stan muttered, stopping suddenly as a familiar girl walked by. "Wendy," Stan cried, but she continued to stride down the corridor.

"We won't _all_ be in the same homeroom," Kyle said shyly, removing his cap and letting his red curls fall out. His friend stopped, turned and looked at him. Sighing, he continued. "I've been skipped ahead to eleventh grade."

"Ha fuckin' ha," Cartman sniggered, holding his round belly. "As if, Jew boy."

"Mmmf mmf mmf mmmmmmf?" Kenny said, his speech muffled as usual.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stan moaned, snatching Kyle's ski hat away and chucking it alongside Cartman's dead sandwich. "Now who else am I going to bitch about Wendy with?"

"Come on," Cartman said, grabbing Stan and Kenny's wrists. "We're not smart enough for Jew boy."

"Welcome to advanced Physical Education for grades eleven and twelve. I am your teacher Mr. Raynolds," the balding man spat, showering the students with saliva. "I assume you have all chosen this course because you enjoy PE," the man looked at the students with beady eyes; they seemed to center on Kyle. "Or you've been skipped ahead a year and missed the one standard compulsory PE unit, and so you have to take this class."

Kyle sat very still, waiting for further instructions. It was his third day at school, and his first PE lesson; he didn't want to fuck up. Mr. Raynolds blinked at them and then blew the whistle hanging around his neck.

"Well come on, then," he snapped, glaring at the students. "DeLorne give me those cigarettes, and go help the new boy. The rest of you get up off your asses and get changed, you have ten minutes."

"Well, don't just sit there," The boy, DeLorne, said; he had a strange, thick accent. "Move your ass before he comes back. You don't want detention, do you?"

Kyle shook his head and then slowly got up off the bench. He first checked himself over for dust. After that, he patted his hair down so that it lay flat. He looked at DeLorne, who was regarding him with a smirk, and blinked. He knew him from somewhere.

"Do I know you?" Kyle whispered, biting his bottom lip.

"Many do," the boy said, walking away from Kyle. He turned, threw a smirk at Kyle, then shouted, "Well, are you coming?"

"You want one?"

Kyle looked down at what DeLorne was offering him. There, in his hand, was a packet of cigarettes.

"I thought those were-"

"Confiscated?" DeLorne smirked, again, and then lit one. "Eh, I have my ways." He paused, took a drag, and then blew it into Kyle's face. "What's your name, kid?"

"Kyle," he answered, pushing his curls back behind his ear. "Kyle Broflovski."

"Kyle?" DeLorne whispered, putting the cigarette out. "You-you…"

"I?" Kyle questioned, smirking at DeLorne's loss of control.

"You don't remember me, then?" the strange boy asked, his accent thick. "Let me refresh your memory," he said, leaning forward, and then he whispered something into Kyle's ear. " _La Resistance._ "

"Mole?" Kyle gasped, his green eyes growing wide. 'But I thought you were-"

"Dead? So did I," DeLorne leaned forward, so that his breath mingled with Kyle's own. "Don't call me mole. Call me Christophe."

"Christophe?"

"It's my name."

Then they just sat there, remembering the events of their youth. Kyle's bright green eyes stared into Christophe's amber ones. Then, after what seemed like an age, they stood up and left.

"Hey Kyle," Stan shouted, waving at Kyle.

It was the third week of the school year. Kyle's old friends had gotten over the fact that Kyle had been skipped forward and now made jokes at him about having to learn two years' work. Kyle had also made a new friend, Christophe. They talked during PE and exchanged glances outside of the class; not the best relationship, but he was at least acknowledged.

"Hey, guys," Kyle said, sitting down with his friends. "What's up?"

"Cartman's mother is out of town," Stan began, his grin growing wider. "And he's going to throw a Party for the _entire_ school, _this_ Friday!"

"Yeah…" Kyle trailed off, running a hand through his curls. "I heard…"

"Are you going to go?"

"Yeah… Sure… why not?"

_It began like any other morning. I rolled over and looked across at Gerald's alarm clock. The large red numbers were blurred; I couldn't make them out. I kissed my husband's cheek, got out of bed, and put on my bathrobe._

_In the morning, I like to make rounds, check on my children. I don't want them getting into any trouble. After all, I wouldn't be a good mother then. I walked down the corridor and checked on Ike. He was fast asleep, his covers wrapped around his legs, and he was gently sucking his thumb. I made a note then went to check on Kyle._

_His door was shut, which was strange, since he almost always left his door open (okay, I open it before I go to bed in case I need to check on them, but I'm getting away from the point). I grasped the door handle and slowly turned it, opening the door. I looked around; he wasn't in his room._

_I heard a slight scrape of metal on tile coming from the bathroom. I rushed towards it and tripped over some clothes left on the floor. When I reached the bathroom, it was locked. I grabbed a hairpin out of my hair, fiddled with the lock and opened the door._

The music was excessively loud, there were piles of garbage scattered around the place, and there was a beer in practically everyone's hand. It was Cartman's party, and by the time Kyle had arrived, everyone was drunk and fornicating.

"Kyle," a familiar voice shouted, followed by a hiccup. "You made it."

"Oh, hey, Stan," Kyle shouted back, wandering over to his friend. "What's the party been like?"

"It's good," Stan said, his words running together. He drooped an arm around Kyle's shoulder, then proceeded to drag him somewhere. "Come, let me show you something."

Kyle let himself be led through the crowd of people, trying to avoid the drunken teenagerswho were passed out on the floor. He looked around for his other friends. He could see Kenny making out with a girl and he swore he saw Christophe standing in a dark corner, smoking.

Stan led Kyle to the stairs, then proceeded to try to saunter up them. After a couple of slips, they finally made it to the top and Kyle followed Stan to Cartman's room.

"Look in there," Stan slurred. He then proceeded to faint at Kyle's feet.

Kyle slowly opened the door to Cartman's room, and before his eyes was the reason Stan got drunk. Cartman was lying on his bed, while Stan's ex-girlfriend was riding him. Kyle quickly shut the door, dragged Kyle down stairs, and called a taxi to pick him up. Nobody could call Kyle a bad friend, but he couldn't stand seeing his friend drunk. So he left Kenny to wait with Stan and then proceeded to explore the house.

Kyle wrapped his jacket around himself, trying to escape the cold. He was standing in Cartman's small, untamed garden, staring up at the stars. He licked his lips, trying to keep them moist, and continued to try and make patterns.

"What are you doing out here?" a familiar voice said, causing Kyle to turn around.

"Just gazing at the stars, I guess," Kyle replied, breathing in through his nose. "Can you smell that?"

"Yes," his friend muttered, taking a step closer. "It's the scent of desire, Kyle. Do you know what I desire?"

"Wendy?" Kyle questioned, remembering earlier events.

"Yes, but I've had her," the boy laughed, reaching out and pushing Kyle to the ground. "But I haven't had you."

Kyle tried to crawl away, but the larger boy stopped him. Kyle opened his mouth to scream, but was cut off by a forced kiss. Kyle squirmed, trying to get away, but it was no use. The larger boy had pinned him.

"Come on, Kyle," the boy hissed, undoing Kyle's pants. "Don't struggle, or else it'll hurt more."

Another scream was silenced by a possessive kiss, which seemed to suffocate Kyle. Finally, Kyle's pants had been undone and pulled down. He'd been revealed to the world. The other boy quickly removed his pants and licked his palm.

"Hold still, now," the boy whispered, lathering his organ with saliva. "I don't want to tear you."

Kyle let out a harsh scream as he was penetrated; he felt something rip inside him. This time his scream rang out, scaring the few birds that were nesting in trees. The larger boy was enjoying himself too much to worry about Kyle's screaming anymore.

"So tight," the boy said, kissing Kyle again. "A virgin. I'm your first, then." Kyle felt a tear run down his cheek as the boy pumped into him. "I'm gonna come-" The larger boy kissed Kyle and then emptied his seed into him. "Such a good-"

The other boy was interrupted by a quick shove. Kyle felt him be ripped out.

"Are you okay, Kyle?" An angelic voice said, to which Kyle let out a whimper. His rescuer pulled up his pants and then lifted him up off the ground. Kyle wrapped his arms around the neck and sobbed. "Shhh… it's okay, I've got you now."

_I was never prepared for the sight that I saw, never. My son lying on the bathroom floor like an empty, lifeless shell. He was drenched in his own blood. I screamed for Gerald, and he came running. I was so scared, scared for my son._

_I sat with him in the ambulance, and then waited while he underwent the blood transfusion. The doctors have said that there is an even chance that he'll pull through, but he hasn't stirred since the transfusion. Since then I've been staying by his side, praying to God that he wakes up._

_Oh, Kyle… Please wake up. Please, please wake up._

_Don't leave us._


	3. Christophe

_I've always believed in flipsides. For everything good that happens in life, there's something as equally bad. The examples are everywhere in life, you only have to look hard enough to find them._

_I'm experiencing the flipside of life at the moment, and plainly, it sucks. I've always hated flipsides, but this one has to be the worst, this one is hell. This time it's someone… **important**. Someone I care for; Kyle._

_The first time I met him we were only boys, trapped in a war over foul language. It was in front of my house, a couple of weeks after we'd moved from France. They said that Gregory, a boy I met on vacation in England, told them about me._

_Gregory, who is better known as Lougie, had always been able to find work for me, so I took them under my wing, I tried to prepare them. I failed, and because of that, I ended up dying. I died in his arms, Kyle's arms._

_That was the first time I really looked at him, really studied him. He had frizzy red hair, covered by a green ski hat; it matched his clothes, in an odd way. But what really drew me to him were those eyes, those rich green eyes._

_Even now that they're empty, they haunt me._

It had been a month since the night of the… _incident_ , as Kyle had dubbed it. Every morning, he awoke from nightmares, reminding him of the ordeal he went through. Everyday, he would force himself to go to school, to look at his _friends_ and pretend that nothing was wrong. And every night, he'd go to bed, fearing the dreams he would have.

The dreams always began in friendship and ended in nightmares. They always began with Stan, Cartman and Kenny calling to him, trying to get him to follow. And when he did the dream changed, and was taken over by demonic pants and whispers.

" _So tight… A virgin… I'm your first, then… I'm gonna come- …Such a good-"_

He always awoke, torn and broken. He hated the nightmares, but they wouldn't stop. As he lay there panting on the bed he replayed the whole night through his head, looking for clues to why this had happened. He couldn't remember much, only being broken, then rescued by an angel.

But where was that angel now, when he needed help awakening from hellish dreams?

Kyle studied the round object in his hands, studied the smooth surface. It gave him comfort, an object that could be used as a weapon if needed. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn't discard his only safe haven.

"You okay, Broflovski?"

Kyle dropped the discus and quickly turned around. Christophe was standing outside the discus circle, leaning on the javelin he was supposed to be practicing with. Kyle smiled at him, then picked up the discarded discus.

"Yeah, Christophe," Kyle said, throwing the discus, and the discussion. "You?"

"Good," Christophe replied, placing his javelin on the ground. "That's not how you throw it."

Kyle felt a firm grip on his elbow and another on his waist. The unfamiliar sensations triggered familiar nightmares, causing Kyle to remember.

"Don't touch me," Kyle screamed, jerking away from Christophe. He felt the back of his hand connect with bone, and a short crunch followed. As he felt the older boy's grip loosen, Kyle began to run. Run away from his nightmares, and fears. He just wanted to run, try to hide, and try to forget.

"Kyle?"

A light touch at his shoulder caused Kyle to turn. Christophe was kneeling behind him, his nose bloody, obviously broken. Kyle gasped and reached up to touch his friends face.

"Wha-what happened?" Kyle stuttered, not really wanted to know.

"You broke my nose," Christophe chuckled. "Never knew you had it in you, Broflovski."

"I did that?" Kyle whispered, racking his brains. He remembered Christophe, and then _he_ was there, touching him, destroying him. ' _Or was that Christophe_? _Why_ _can't I separate nightmare from reality_?'

The classroom was so quiet you could hear the scraping of pencil on paper, it was driving Kyle mad. It was English, and Kyle was supposed to be writing a report on a famous dictator. Kyle had chosen Hitler, and all he could think of to say was ' _Hitler was bad_ '.

' _Come on Broflovski_ ,' he thought, pushing a single red curl behind his ear. ' _There is a reason why you chose Hitler, think._ ' Kyle racked his brains, trying to think of a possible beginning. ' _Beginning, beginning… I know_! _I'll start from the beginning._ ' Kyle picked up his pencil and began to write.

" _Adolf Hitler was born in Austria on the 20th of April 1889. His father, Alois Hitler, worked as a customs officer and died when Adolf was thirteen. His other family were his mother, Klara Hitler; a younger brother (name unknown), who died at the age of six; and a younger sister, Paula, who was born in 1896._

" _At the age of six, Adolf Hitler began school, where he had a poor record. In 1907, at the age of 18, Adolf went to the Vienna Austria. There, he failed the entrance exam to the Academy of Fine Arts. He took the entrance exam again a year later and failed._

" _Hitler spent most of this time living in cheap rooming houses, or sleeping on park benches. He often ate charity meals from charity kitchens or poor houses. He lived like this for six years, until 1913._

" _In 1913, Adolf Hitler travelled to Munich, Germany. In 1914, he joined the army and was decorated for bravery. At the end of WWI, Hitler was recovering in a hospital from temporary blindness, caused by poison gas._

" _Germany didn't fair too well either. Because of the Versailles Treaty, Germany had to pay huge reparations, was stripped of it's weapons and lots of it's territory was taken. Germany went bankrupt, millions were unemployed, and the country was forced into despair.  
_

" _In 1920, Hitler joined the-"_

"Boring," Cartman whined, gulping down milk. "I don't know how you got an A on it."

"A actually Cartman," Kyle smirked, still reading it. "I know someone of your small intellect can't underst-"

"You calling me stupid, Jew-boy?" Cartman snapped, throwing milk over Kyle. "Heh, you look like a drowned rat."

"Shove it, fat-boy," Kyle growled, trying to part his milky fringe.

"Hey," Cartman shouted, looking around for something else to throw. "I'm just big boned."

" _Nobody_ believes that anymore, Cartman," Kyle continued, his anger seething. "You are fat. F-A-T, fat."

"You fucking Jewish butt fucker," Cartman began, lunging for Kyle only to be stopped by Stan and Kenny. "You fucking gay fucking Jew fucking fucker. No wonder you're such a fucking fucker, go die in a fucking hole you-"

"That's enough, Cartman," Stan muttered, trying to push his large friend into his seat. "Why don't you both just calm down, you're always at each others necks, why don't you give it a rest?"

"Mmmf, mmf mmmmf you guys," Kenny said, removing his hood. "Hey Kyle," Kenny continued, changing the subject. "I heard you broke Kristen Johnson's ex-boyfriend's nose."

"What the fuck are you talking about," Cartman said, laughing. "Jew-boy would never hurt a fly."

"Well, Kristen told me, after she gave me a-"

"Just get on with it," Stan snapped, obviously not wanting to hear about Kenny's sex life.

"Yeah," Cartman said, his mouth full of Twinkie. "Whose nose did he break?"

"Kristen's ex-boyfriend's," Kenny groaned, but continued anyway. "He broke Christophe 'Ze Mole' DeLorne's nose!" He then pointed to a bunch of twelfth graders, trying to point out Christophe. "He's the one in the black leather jacket."

"Wait," Stan said, turning to Kyle. "Is this 'Ze Mole' as in 'The Mole'?"

"What?" Cartman said, trying to inject himself back into the conversation.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered, feeling guilty. "Could we not talk about this? I'd rather forget."

"Forget?" Kenny questioned, laughing at his friend. "This'll be around the school by lunchtime tomorrow. You'll be famous, everyone will want to meet they guy who broke 'Ze Mole's' nose."

Kyle felt a tingle down his spine; someone was watching him. He then laughed, there were plenty of people watching him. Yet somehow he knew this person was close, and he knew that this person was the one who had destroyed him.

"Hey, did you hear about that Broflovski kid?"

"Apparently he broke 'Ze Mole's' nose."

"He did what!?"

"They were fighting over Kristen."

"I heard that they were tackling during advanced P.E."

"And he hit him with a hockey stick."

"A baseball bat."

"A golf club."

"I wouldn't want to be near him when he's angry."

"Yeah, look! There he is."

"Lets get out of here."

If you've ever been the subject of school gossip, you have first hand experience of what it's like, and how it spreads. Kyle was experiencing it, the different looks of wonder, hatred and admiration all combined. He was congratulated by some, laughed at by others. But all he really wanted was to be left alone. But that, of course, was never going to happen.

_I don't remember much of my childhood, which I mostly spent in France, with my father. I learned everything I knew from him; he was an expert in covert operations. He was a bit erratic though, he liked to push people to their limits. Wherever he is now, I bet he's lording it over some other people._

_My mother is a different story altogether. She met my father in Paris, who had been sent to rob her father. They looked into each other's eyes, and all they could feel was intense loathing. They kept running into each other, and soon their loathing turned to loving._

_I was born of their first tryst, causing my mother to leave the house that she'd grown up in, and begin a new life. My father took care of her, of course. When a DeLorne falls in love, they protect the one that they love._

_When I was nine, my father died, food poisoning if you can believe it. My mother was heart broken; she shut herself away from the world, God as her only companion. As for me, I lost all my faith in God then. He was keeping my mother from me, took my father from me. And I hated him for it._

_My mother soon decided that we had to leave France, so we packed up and headed over to America. I was home schooled; my mother wanted me close, but I still found time to earn money the way my father had. And that's how I met Kyle, of course._

" _5_ – _4_ – _3_ – _2_ – _1_ "

The bell rang loud and clear, signalling the end of another long day. Students hastily packed up their books as teachers barked out homework. It was a Friday, and no one could wait to get out of the dreary prison they spent most of their week in.

Kyle was like the other students, thankful that another week was over. But he was thankful for a different reason; Kyle just wanted to escape the school halls and its gossip.

"Hey Kyle," Stan shouted, grabbing his arm and steering him through the crowded corridor. "It's Shelly's birthday on Sunday; can I stay at your place?"

' _Say no_ ,' Kyle thought, running a hand through his hair. ' _You don't want to spend time with him; you'd rather curl up in a ball of self loathing_.' Kyle opened his mouth, to answer no, but instead said yes.

"Thanks dude," Stan sighed, putting his arm around Kyle's shoulder. "You're a real friend."

"Stan," Kyle growled, removing Stan's arm. "Please don't touch me."

"Wha-"

"Just don't do it," Kyle snapped, opening the door to let them out. "I don't want to talk about it. Lets just go catch the bus."

"This must be really serious, Kyle," Stan said gravely, stepping through the door. "You _never_ catch the bus willingly."

"Kyle, get down here."

" _Regah_ , mum," Kyle replied, ignoring his mother's request.

"Not _regah_ , now," his mother shouted. "You have a phone call."

Kyle sighed, once again whishing that his parents installed a phone line in his room. He paused the computer game he was playing, and winning, and made his way down the stairs to the phone.

" _Shalom_ ," Kyle answered under his mother's watchful eye. "Hello?"

"Hello Kyle," A familiar voice answered, sending a chill up Kyle's spine. "Remember me? I hope you didn't forget." Kyle just stood there, his breathing quickening. "This time last Friday we were one, you and I. You were such a good boy, a smart boy. I enjoyed our time together, until that asshole ruined it. He always has to play the hero."

Kyle slowly hung up the phone, trying not to listen to the person on the other end. He waited a couple of seconds, and then turned to leave. It rang again.

" _Sh-shalom_ ," Kyle whispered, knowing exactly who was on the other end. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh Kyle, I think you are," the statement was followed by a hollow laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try anything again with your hero watching you so closely. But don't worry, we'll soon be one again."

"You're a sick bastard," Kyle whispered into the phone, earning himself another chuckle. "You come near me again and I'll-"

"You'll what? Tell your friends?" Another laugh, then the person continued. "They'll just think you're making it up, after all you still sit near me, laugh with me. You have no evidence; you'll be named a liar. And to think, you're pushing away the only person who knows the truth."

"Who?" Kyle questioned, searching for an answer.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle," the person said, tutting. "You're not _that_ stupid, I know you too well."

Then the person hung up, leaving Kyle with only a dial tone.

" _It'll be fine, Mole."_

_Zimmer, one of the guys I had been working with had said before the mission. We were to fly into Miami to destroy a gang of Cubans who were planning destroying the city. Everything was going fine, until Lougie, Gregory if you forgot, had been shot._

_There were only three of us, which means we all went to the hospital. I was the one who had to steer the large helicopter back when I didn't have a license. Then we rushed Lougie to the hospital and called his parents._

_While we were waiting, I smelt a strong sent of cinnamon and pine. I only knew one person who smelt of it; Kyle. I followed my nose until I reached a secluded room. I looked inside, and there was Kyle, lying on the bed with bandaged wrists._

_I slowly walked inside and past his mother, she frowned but let it be. She didn't approve of me, I had a motorcycle, I smoked, and I didn't dress properly. To her I'm the scum that pollutes this planet._

_But then and there, it was different. I rested my hand on top of Kyle's, and slowly stroked his bandaged wrist. I choked back a sob, as his chest slowly rose. Kyle was dying right before my eyes, it hurt like hell._

" _Oh God, I can't breathe," I murmured, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on his bandaged wrist. "Please wake up, I'll die without you."_


	4. Ike

_I know I haven't been the most supportive younger brother, but hell, it's not like I haven't always been around. I've always been there, lurking around the house, sneaking into his room to play the latest games. But he's always been off having adventures with his friends, he never really noticed me. And I never really looked at him properly, I suppose._

_He was always getting attention, attention **I** deserved. Whenever something happened to him, mum would forget I even existed. Dad was a different story though. He, unlike mum, acknowledged me during those times._

_Well, now it's different. I don't want attention, I just want my brother back. I want the brother who used to play with me, who taught me about the world. I want everything to go back the way it was before, when he wasn't in hospital because he cut himself._

_Kyle was always the smarter one, with parents like ours what else could he be. But why did he feel the need to cut himself? That's what **I** want to know… all I want to know._

The sweat ran down his forehead, but Kyle didn't care. He had to run, run from the terrible darkness that seemed to grow. He knew he couldn't stop, but every step he took he grew more tired.

He looked behind, but only saw his reflection. Finally he stopped, to wipe the sweat away. His reflection walks up to him, and rubs his shoulders.

"I love you," it whispers in a voice not his own.

Kyle turns to find himself facing an angel, dressed in white. The angel traces Kyle's collarbone with a long finger, then places it on Kyle's lips. The angel leans foreword and claims Kyle's lips in a searing kiss.

"Don't think, feel."

Kyle feels, but the angel has gone, disappeared. In it's place the nightmare that has been haunting, plaguing Kyle's dreams. Kyle tried to scream, but his voice was gone, taken by the nightmare.

"Kyle," The nightmare hissed, sending shiver's down Kyle's spine. "It's time to wake up now Kyle, wakey, wakey baby."

"Kyle," A voice hissed, sending shivers down Kyle's spine. "It's time to wake up now Kyle, wakey, wakey baby."

"Ike," Kyle groaned, rolling over, "go 'way." He battered the air, trying to hit his younger brother, but Ike was too quick. "Leave me alone."

"Mum wants you out of bed," Ike continued, poking Kyle's side. "And your friend Stan's here."

"Wha?" Kyle exclaimed, sitting upright. "What time is it anyway?"

"Around one," Ike said, looking at Kyle's digital clock. "Nope, about half past."

"Oh God," Kyle said, getting out of bed, "I haven't even had a shower." He looked over at his brother Ike, who was grinning at him. "What?"

"Would you like me to find Mom's slippers?" Ike began, sounding superior. "They'd go so well with your boxers."

Kyle looked down at himself; he was wearing the boxers his mother had bought for him the previous evening. What he hadn't noticed, though, were that they were pink, with red love hearts. Where he got his taste from, he didn't know.

"Shut up and get out," Kyle snapped, pushing his brother out of the room.

"Would you like some help finding clothes to match?" Ike said, obviously impressed with himself. "I might not have the fashion sense you have but-"

"Out!" Kyle shouted, interrupting his brother.

Kyle continued to shove his brother until he was entirely out of the room. Kyle then slammed the door, and sunk to the floor. Stan was in his house, waiting downstairs for him.

' _I wish I said no_ ,' He thought as he stood up and opened the door to the outside world. He made his way down the hall, towards the linen closet.

"Mom," He shouted, grabbing a towel then heading towards the bathroom, "I'm going to take a shower." The door clicked behind him.

Kyle stood in the shower and let the water run over him, liking the way it felt. It relaxed his body and cleared his mind. He studied his palm, tracing its lines with a long finger. He traced a line down, down until he reached his wrist.

His skin was pale, white, he could see the veins beneath his skin clearly. He gently stroked his wrist, relishing the soft tingles that made him feel alive. He spread his fingers wide, so it began to hurt, and pressed his hand against the cool glass. All of Kyle's senses had been heightened. Somehow, he felt protected in the small, confined space of the shower.

"Kyle," His mother screeched, shattering his control, "get out of there now; you are going to drown yourself, mister."

' _Drown yourself, mister_.'

The words pounded around his head, repeating over and over again. Drowning was a form of death; death was a form of escape. Kyle had never thought of death, but he had thought of escape.

"Hey dude," Stan said as Kyle walked into the room.

"Hey du-" Kyle began, earning a glare from his mother. " _Shalom_ Stan."

"Wha?" Stan answered, blinking owlishly. "What's Shaloam?"

" _Shalom_ is Hebrew Stan," Kyle muttered, pushing a curl behind his ear. "It can mean hello or goodbye." Kyle sighed, Stan still looked confused. "Mom's trying to get Ike and I more… _involved_ in our religion."

"Oh, okay then," Stan answered, now content. "By the way, Wendy Cartman are coming to dinner-"

"Wh-what?" Kyle stuttered, running a hand through his hair.

"-and Kenny too."

"What!" Kyle exclaimed, sitting down on the couch behind him. "You didn't even think… you just _invited_ them?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"You didn't even think that I might mi-"

"It was _your_ mother's idea," Stan shouted, pulling Kyle up off the couch. "Stop – _bitching_ – to me because you've been having a shit week."

"Mum," Kyle shouted, making Stan let go of him. "Did you invite Eric, Wendy _and_ Kenny to eat with us?"

"Yes, I'm preparing a great meal for us," His mother began, smiling. "Our Entrée will be _Kuzunak_ , Our side dish will be _Garbanzos_ and _Couscous_. For the main course we'll have _Souvlakia_ , and for desert, nice _Sex In A Pan_."

"You don't need to cook that much Mom," Kyle muttered, edging slowly away from Stan.

"Oh Kyle," His mother said, tutting. " _Chas V'sholom_ I'd let them starve!"

"Oh, okay," Kyle said looking down. "I've always loved your _Souvlakia_ anyway."

"I know you do," His mother replied, kissing both his cheeks. "I'm making it for you."

His mother then left, singing quietly to herself. Kyle remembered it as the song she used to sing to him as a baby. Slowly, he turned to Stan.

"Why is Wendy coming?" Kyle questioned, sitting back down. "I thought you two broke up."

"She's now 'with' _Cartman_ ," Stan spat, wiping his mouth.

"Oh Stan," Kyle murmured as he watched Stan hold back tears. "She's a fool. So," Kyle said, changing the topic, "what do you want to d now?"

"Well," Stan began, Kyle trying to ignore the evil glint in his eye. He knew that dinner might not be as pleasant as his mother thought it would be.

_The first thing I heard that morning was a scream, but that's normal. Every morning my mother screams at us, to get up, clean our rooms, do our chores, just like every other mother. But that morning the scream was different, horrified._

_I jumped out of bed and raced out the door, hoping it was just mum freaking out over something stupid again. But it wasn't something silly, something easily forgettable. It wasn't silly, or unforgettable, it was tragic._

_I walked into the bathroom, and stood there, gaping at the sight I saw. My brother had passed out on the floor, covered in blood. His wrist pressed limply to his mouth._

_I was then dragged away by Dad; he didn't want me to see Kyle like that. He looked different; he didn't look like Kyle, not at all. Instead he looked weak, lifeless, dead._

_Ding Dong_

"Kyle," a shrill voice, his mother's, screamed from the kitchen, "answer the door."

Kyle slowly got up and made his way to the front door. He slowly turned the nob and let it swing open. Standing behind the door were three familiar figures.

" _Shalom_ ," Kyle said, playing the graceful host. "Welcome."

"Jesus, Jew-Boy," Cartman began, barely squeezing through the door, "I hope there's no _kosher_ food around."

"Oh no, Cartman," Kyle said, a smirk playing at his lips. "My mother has been working very hard, our entrée will be _Kuzunak_ , with a side dish of _Garbanzos_ and _Couscous_. For the main course we'll have _Souvlakia_ , and for desert, _Sex In A Pan_."

"All but the last sound like _kosher_ food to me," Cartman mumbled, clearing the doorway. "Come on Wendy, let's go watch Kosher Vision."

Kyle watched as Cartman's fat arse walked towards the loungeroom, followed by a slim purple figure. Kyle turned, looked at Stan and sighed. Then he remembered the third guest.

"Hey Kenny," Kyle mumbled, closing the front door. "Have you brought a food container?"

"No, mum doesn't want me to ask for Jewish food," Kenny smiled at this, his family were always asking him to bring home food. "But I reckon your mother will _force_ the leftovers on me."

"Say Terrance," the Canadian said, bending over.

"Yes Phillip?" his friend replied.

_Pffft!_

"Hahahahaha." The two Canadians laughed at the fart.

"Hahahahaha." The boys (and girl) laughed along.

"Kyle," his mother called, distracting Kyle from his favourite show, "come set the table."

"But Mom," Kyle whined, standing up, "can't Ike do it?"

"Do as I say young man," his mother snapped, making Kyle groan. "And I heard that."

"Why does she always seem to hear me?" Kyle muttered, standing up to face his friends. "I'll call you guys when dinner is on."

Kyle looked around at the people on the crowded dinner table. Three were family; one was a girl, who broke a heart. Another was a friend, another was an enemy, and one a Nightmare, which haunted Kyle.

It was desert time, and dinner had progressed smoothly. Well… as smooth as a dinner with Stan, Cartman and Wendy could progress. There were a few arguments, but mainly over the fact that Wendy was there.

"Here's dessert everyone," Shiela Broflovski boomed, interrupting whatever silence there was. " _Sex In A Pan_."

Kyle watched as his mother began to serve Cartman, and how his face turned into a smile, and then twisted into a scowl. Kyle found it amusing that Cartman loved his mother's food, even though it was obviously Jewish. Kyle's eyes scanned around the table, looking for someone else to share the joke with, but instead met his fear.

Kyle looked into the eyes of his rapist, they seemed to draw him in deeper, not wanting to let go. Kyle whimpered as the person mouthed filth, releasing the memories again. Kyle opened his mouth to shout, but was intercepted by a long finger being raised to the lips that had silenced him before.

"Kyle," his mother's shrill voice rang, breaking the connection, "there's a strange boy asking for you, and he has a motorbike." She followed the statement with a glare. "A motorbike Kyle. What have I told you about people who have motorbikes? They are vile pieces of trash who have no value for life. That boy probably sleeps in his own filth, why are you hanging out with him? He's probably a rapist."

" _Shut Up_ ," Kyle screamed, causing everyone to look at him. "What would _you_ know? You think you know everything about everyone, but what do you really know? Nothing. I bet you don't even know the boy's na-"

"How dare you," his mother shouted, slapping Kyle across the cheek. "How dare you say I don't love you, when it's you who has no respect for anyone else. You ask me his name, I don't know. But do you?"

Kyle walked over to the window and peered through the curtain. A familiar shape was leaning against a large black object, probably the motor bike. Kyle watched as a trail of smoke left the dark figures lips and smiled.

"Yes," Kyle said, turning to his mother. "I do."

Kyle gently closed the door behind him, he was too nervous to make sure it was locked. He peered through the dark, trying to make out simple shapes. Finally, when his eyes adjusted, he could see what he was looking for.

"Christophe," he called, walking over to his friend, "what are you doing here?"

"I've come to see if you're okay," Christophe muttered, lighting a cigarette.

"I'm fine," Kyle said, grinning. "You should have heard my mum when you rocked up. She was so angry, it was hilarious."

"Your mother always worries about you," Christophe laughed, using his free hand to push some loose curls behind Kyle's ear. "Could you do something for me?"

"Sure, what?" Kyle said, leaning into Christophe's hand.

"Stay away from Stan tonight," Christophe said, running his hand through Kyle's hair. "I'm leaving for Washington in ten minutes."

"What?" Kyle said, jerking away from Christophe. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Trust me Kyle," Christophe said seriously, getting on his motorbike. "I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't have a mission tonight. Please, stay away from Stan."

"Wait," Kyle shouted, as Christophe revved the bike. But it was too late, in a few seconds he was a spot on the horizon.

It was midnight when he heard it, the gentle sobbing. Kyle pinched himself, to check if he was dreaming, he wasn't. He slowly got out of bed, and tiptoed over to the quivering pile of blankets.

"Stan?" Kyle questioned, sitting beside his friend. "What's wrong?"

"Wh-why did th-they have to flaunt it?" Stan stuttered, referring to the conversation they had earlier. "They know how much it h-hurts m-me."

"I don't know," Kyle said quietly. "I guess it's the only way they know how to handle it."

"She was my first Kyle," Stan sobbed, wiping his eyes clean. "I was very drunk, so I don't remember. Apparently I-I hurt her. I seem to do terrible things when I'm drunk, and I don't remember them."

An icy feeling washed over Kyle, making him shrink away from Stan. He could feel the hate, the hurt and the suffering pouring out of his friend. He hated the fact his mother made Stan sleep in his room, he hated the fact he was staying the night. But most of all, he hated the fact that Stan had been hurt.

"Kyle?" Stan croaked, sniffing. "Why doesn't anybody love me?"

"Oh Stan," Kyle said, choking back a sob. He didn't like where the conversation was heading, he knew what was going to come of it. "Don't talk like that."

"Why not," Stan hissed, whipping his head around to face Kyle. "Who would care if I died?"

"I would Stan," Kyle said, hiding his face so that Stan couldn't see his hate. "I would miss you so much."

He felt a soft touch on his chin, a hand, Stan's hand. Kyle let his head be led, and let his eyes meet Stan's. As Stan lent forward Kyle lent back, until he was flat on the ground.

"Kyle," Stan whispered, then claimed Kyle's mouth with his own.

' _Please God,_ ' Kyle silently prayed as he closed his eyes. ' _Please don't let it hurt._ '

Once more he let his body be violated, once more he wished he was dead. But this time there was no angel to rescue him, this burden would be his to carry alone.

_I haven't been in hospital before now, not that I can remember. But I know that I hate it. I hate the fact that these clean white walls are Kyle's prison, where he might spend his last days. I hate the way it smells, like our toilet at home. And I hate the way I'm being forced to wait to see my brother._

_Mum has been there since the 'accident', she hasn't left his side. Dad's worried about both of them, Kyle for what he did, and Mum for stressing out, Mum always stresses, about every tiny thing. But that's Mum for you._

_I suppose I should really agonize about Mums stressing, or Dad's constant worrying. I should worry about Kyle and the reason he felt the need to end his life. But I don't worry, instead I wonder how selfish my older brother really was. Didn't he think about the impact his decision would have on the rest of us?_

_I can't even begin to describe how angry, sad and terrified I am. Kyle was a strong, brave person. He was a good student, and a loving brother. If someone like him decided that his life wasn't worth living, what chance do the rest of us have?_


	5. Interlude

I hear a faint beeping sound and I know something's wrong. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm supposed to be glorified, supposed to be… _dead_. Instead I'm here, surrounded by a pulsating beep.

It's smells strange here too, stale but clean. Too clean, hospital cle- I just realised where I am, I'm in the last place where I wanted to be. Hospital.

The beeping is steadily becoming louder, Christ it's annoying. It seems to drone on, like my English teacher, noise that never ends. I hate it here, hate it.

I hear a choked sob, familiar but strange. It's followed by a muttered word, and a weight leaves my right hand. I breathe in deeply, relishing the smell of rain that only belonged to one person.

_Christophe._

Thinking back on the events that happened, I'm surprised that he's here. All he did was try to be there for me, and all I did was push him away. I was scared of being close to another person, even if they had meant to help.

But I'd been hurt, by my friends, the people I trusted. My trust for others vanished, decayed along with my will to live. I never trusted Christophe, even though I should have.

I remember when we were children, during the war, he was already protecting me. In his back yard, while we were discussing plans, he was protective and saddened. It was as if he knew what was going to play out.

I suppose that comes from being a spy, you develop a sense for danger. He used his sense to protect me, he even warned me, but I didn't listen. I'm like my mother, stubborn.

"Kyle?"

His voice makes me tingle. I obviously whispered his name aloud, because he's back by my side, caressing my hand. Him just being there is the only thing that is keeping me conscious. It feels like he's slowly caressing me back to life.

Slowly I open my eyes, everything is blurry. My eyes are sore in the light; I'm fighting to keep them open. A soft hand on my cheek, and I open them fully, letting Christophe's familiar features form clearly.

"Hey there, sleepy head," he murmurs, stroking my cheek. "You had me worried there for a moment."

I smile a weak smile and lick my lips, relishing the moisture. I slowly lift my left hand, which has been impaled with a drip, and reach up and rest it on his shoulder. He chuckles and places it back down beside me.

Slowly he grasps my right hand, and lifts it towards his mouth. I watch as he gently kisses a purple cross on my wrist. A purple scar, the scar I made. He obviously notices how stressed I am, because he placed it on his shoulder and smiled.

"It's alright Kyle," he whispers, his accent thick. "You gave us all a fright you know, especially your mother."

As he turns his head, I follow, and I see my mother. She's standing there, looking thin, tired. I've never seen my mom look so… fragile. It scares me.

"Kyle," she smiles, and walks towards me. A familiar figure is behind her.

Suddenly the room turns cold, and I get a glimpse of those eyes. A scream tears through my throat, and my head begins to spin. Christophe is squeezing my hand, begging me to stay awake. As my world darkens once more, my last thoughts are of him.


	6. Kenny

_I want this to be a story, something I can write down and forget about later. I've always been a good writer; it's my way of releasing my frustration. Whenever my parents fought, I'd write something then tear it up and forget about it._

_But this isn't something you can tear apart when you're done with it. This is reality. Kyle's in hospital because he tried to kill himself and I can't help thinking it's my fault._

_Recently everything's been getting out of control, I should have noticed. Even now as I look back and try to piece the pieces together, I can't. Sometimes life is like the stories I love to write, a mystery that is hard to solve. Slowly, as I piece together the tragedy, a picture begins to form._

_I have a feeling, deep inside, that this ordeal is my fault. But the strange thing is I've had the same feeling since the first party of the school year. Ever since I ditched Stan and slept with that girl…_

As Kyle woke, he felt an unfamiliar weight across his chest. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and took in his surroundings. He saw a tuft of black hair poking out from underneath the blankets.

"Oh God," Kyle whispered, getting out of bed and running to the bathroom.

He quickly locked the door behind him, and turned on the hot water. Slowly, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water scald him. It made him feel better, that it was burning away his sins.

He grabbed his father's nailbrush and began to scrub. He liked the way it made his skin raw, he loved the way it ripped and tore. It, like the hot water, helped Kyle to cleanse himself, remove the previous night's activities from his skin.

' _Oh God,_ ' Kyle thought to himself. ' _What have I done_?'

"Kyle," a shrill voice shrieked. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

' _Bupkes_ ," He thought to himself, scrubbing harder. ' _Chaloshes, Chazeri_.'

"Kyle," his father shouted. "It's 3 am. Open this door at once."

' _Slut_ ,' he thought, belittling himself. ' _Whore_!'

There was a loud bang and the door flew open.

"Mum, Dad," Kyle hissed, quickly turning off the water and grabbing a towel. "W-what are you doing?"

"Worrying about you," His mother snapped, grabbing Kyle's left wrist. "What is this?"

"Just leave me alone," He snarled, snatching his wrist away. "I hate you!"

As he stormed off, Kyle could hear his father's shouts. But he didn't care. Nothing matter anymore, he had lost everything.

"Kyle," Stan hissed, kicking his friend. "We need to talk."

"Kyle," Cartman imitated, kicking Kyle harder. "We need to talk."

Kyle stared at the two boys, blinking stupidly. Slowly he got up and walked away, ignoring the boy's protests. He walked past Kenny, who grabbed his sleave, causing it to rip. He didn't care anymore; he just wanted to get away from everyone. Maybe climb up to the roof and-

"Hello Kyle," a familiar voice said, the happiness stung Kyle and he knew it was Pip. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the benefit on Saturday evening."

"Benefit?" Kyle croaked, wondering what the blonde meant. "What are you talking about Pip?"

"Why, we've been advertising for weeks," Pip said, smiling at Kyle's interest. "It's to raise money for our schools, the Drama society is putting on _West Side Story_." Pip paused, his expression faulted. "You should come Kyle, you've been 'out of it' for quite sometime now."

"I dunno Pip," Kyle muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have any way to get there, and I don't know anyone who's going."

"Christophe DeLorne's going," Pip said excitedly, finding a fault in Kyle's excuse. "I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a ride."

"Sure Pip," Kyle murmured, smiling slightly. "If 'Tophe can take me, I'll be there."

"Kyle, are you okay?"

"I'm fine Wendy," Kyle snapped, turning to face the pretty teen. "Why are you here? Have you gotten sick of Cartman? Are you slowly making your way through my group of friends?"

"I could say the same of you," she hissed, pulling Kyle towards her. "I know what happened; he spilled it all out to me." Her expression flickered, she looked strained, but it didn't stop her. "You go near him again, I'll rip your throat out. You're the only one who knows what really happened to that substitute teacher; don't forget what I can do."

"O-okay," Kyle stuttered, his skin burning under Wendy's gaze.

"Remember Kyle," she spat, walking off. "Remember what I could do to you."

' _It can't be any worse than what he has done to me Wendy_ ,' Kyle thought, holding his head in his hands.

"Hey, Wendy," He cried, forcing the girl to stop in her tracks. "I'll stay away from him, but that doesn't mean he'll stay away from me."

For the first time since he was eight, Kyle Broflovski was eating lunch alone. He felt awkward, the looks he was getting ranged from gloating to pitying. It was high school and no one wanted to sit alone for lunch.

"Hello Kyle," an annoyingly cheery voice rang out. His accent was overwhelming.

"Hey Pip," Kyle muttered, suppressing a groan. "What do you want?"

"Why Kyle," he began, sitting down next to Kyle. "I am cordially inviting you to sit with Butters, Tweek, Jimmy, Timmy and I."

"Wha-?"

"They have all agreed," Pip continued, standing up. "We do not want to see you alone after your falling out with your so called 'friends'."

"Pip, I -" Kyle began, fear apparent on his face.

"Oh no Kyle," Pip interrupted, dragging Kyle up next to him. "I would not dream of leaving you alone in this crowd. And besides, you need to get reacquainted with these boys."

"Hello, boys." Pip's voice was barely heard over the noise. "Kyle has agreed to sit with us."

"Well, gee wiz, fellas," Butters said, chuckling to himself. "We have a new member."

"Hey, Kyle," Tweek screeched, twitching. "Arggh! Too much pressure!"

"Welcome…Kyle…to…group," Timmy said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Timmah!"

"Wh-wh-welcome," Jimmy stuttered, edging towards Timmy. "Th-th-there's space between Butters and me."

Kyle looked at the boys, reckoning with his chance of survival. He hadn't really tried to get to know these boys in elementary, he never gave them a chance. He, like the other children, liked to laugh at them, not with them.

"Hey guys," Kyle muttered, drawing in a breath. ' _It's about time I gave these boys a chance; after all, they're giving me one._ '

"Hey," Kyle said, as he jogged past the older boy. "You're going to the benefit thing on Saturday right?"

"Let me guess," 'Tophe replied, his accent was thick. "Pip forced you into going."

"Uh…"

"And he also promised you I'd give you a lift."

"Kind of…"

"I'll pick you up at six thirty," Christophe continued, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "We can eat before we watch the performance."

"Thanks," Kyle called, watching his friend run off. "Dinner would be great."

' _Wait a minute_ ,' an annoying voice in Kyle's head screamed. ' _He just invited you out for dinner_.'

"So?" Kyle muttered to the little voice, slowing his pace from a jog to a walk. "I accepted."

' _Why did you accept?_ ' the voice continued, sounding oddly like Ike. ' _You were raped by someone you trusted, and you want to date a guy._ '

"Whoa," Kyle said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not going out on a _date_ with him, we're just friends."

' _Except you think about him constantly, you blush whenever he's around, and you flirt mercilessly with him,_ ' the voice taunted, causing Kyle to halt. ' _And besides he's the one who you burn to see._ '

"I do not," Kyle snapped, sitting down on the grass to watch Christophe run. "I do not _burn_ to see him."

' _But you do,_ ' the voice whispered, as a sense of realisation. ' _He was the one who saved you_.'

"I saw you at lunch, you know."

"Hey, Stan," was Kyle's muttered reply.

"Why were you sitting with them, Kyle?" Stan questioned, watching Kyle pack up his books.

"They asked, and I accepted," Kyle replied, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Cartman was doing a victory dance," Stan continued, blocking Kyle's path. "It was like he'd won something over you."

"Doesn't Cartman do that everyday?" Kyle said, tapping his foot.

"I'm being serious Kyle," Stan said, reaching out to touch Kyle. "Don't you like us any more?"

"After what you guys did to me, who would?" Kyle said, batting Stan's hand away.

He pushed past his old friend, letting him wonder about what had happened. It gave Kyle some satisfaction that Stan was worried, but it also terrified him. If Stan was worried, he would be sought out. And that was the last thing that Kyle wanted.

_The moment I laid eyes on her, I got a boner. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, long and glorious. Her green eyes seemed to sparkle with each smile and light up with each laugh. And her breasts, they were perfect._

_Our conversation began as simple flirtation, small accidental touches frequently happened. After a hazy ten minutes of alcohol consumption and soda, it became more intimate. Light kisses soon progressed into heavy ones, as my hands began to unbutton her shirt a familiar voice said:_

" _Kenny, I need you to wait with Stan for his taxi."_

_I stopped my actions and turned, Kyle was holding Stan as he barfed all over a pot plant. I kissed my angel and nodded to Kyle, letting him dump Stan with us. I paused, watching Stan as I continued to unbutton the girl's shirt. He was swaying from side to side; an angry look pierced his eyes._

" _Kenny," the angel whined, holding her top shut. "Let's go somewhere private."_

" _Uh…" I replied, watching Stan. I looked back up at the radiant girl standing in front of him. She was offering me a night of sex; Stan was offering nothing._

" _Okay," I replied, patting Stan on the head. "Be good, don't miss your taxi."_

_My final words to Stan were pointless. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Stan heading towards the staircase, where Wendy and Cartman were. I had a feeling something bad was going to happen… How right I was._

"Kyle," Ike shouted, causing Kyle to jump. "The boy with the motorcycle is back, he says he's here to take you to the benefit thing."

Kyle wandered over to his bedroom window and peered out. Christophe's motor bike was standing outside, parked upright and safe. Kyle smiled, remembering his mother's thoughts on Christophe and his motorbike.

"What are you looking at?" The familiar accent washed over Kyle, sending shivers down his spine.

"Your bike," Kyle replied, turning to face his friend. "Do you think that mom will let me ride that thing?"

"She doesn't have to know," Christophe muttered, looking around Kyle's room. "So this is where you live?"

"Yeah…" Kyle trailed off, grabbing a jacket. "What's the problem?"

"It's kind of _neat_ ," the boy replied, smiling. "Too neat… This is rather scary, actually…"

"Yeah," Kyle replied, looking at his watch. "Come on, we don't want to be late."

Kyle sat frozen on the motorbike; he had a dazed look in his eyes. He couldn't believe he was sitting on a motorbike, or that his mother was watching him through a crack in the curtains. He was surprised that she hadn't come out and hauled him off.

"Christophe," he murmured, making sure his helmet was in place. "Are you sure I won't die in a burning ball of fire?"

"Only if you don't hold on tight enough," Christophe replied, gently placing Kyle's hands around his waist. "Just hold on, and enjoy the ride."

As Christophe started the bike up, Kyle could feel it rumble beneath him. As it revved, Kyle clung to Christophe's waist, fearing the worst. And as it began to speed away, he screamed.

"I hate you," Kyle spat, as they pulled up along side the restaurant. "I hope you realise that."

"You know you love me," Christophe smirked, his accent heavy.

"Oh, ha ha," Kyle muttered, trying to get off the bike.

"Take my hand, I'll lead you to salvation," Kyle regarded Christophe's hand, which was dirty, but took it anyway. "Les Misèrables, Victor Hugo."

"I have never been more scared in my life," Kyle muttered, finally getting off the bike. "Why did you take me down the freeway again?"

"It took us half the time to get here," Christophe replied, shrugging. "And besides, I know you loved it."

Kyle opened his moth to reply, and then closed it again. He gently punched his friend on the arm and said, "Come on, let's get something to eat."

As Kyle followed his friend into the restaurant, words played through his head. _Take my hand; I'll lead you to salvation._ Kyle frowned, because all he could do was hope.

_It's fucking freezing out here; we live in South Park, not Florida. I have no idea why I'm here, DeLorne asked me to come. He said it was important, he said it was about Kyle. I don't trust DeLorne, but Kyle sure does._

" _Excuse me," an accent close to Pip's interrupted my thoughts. "Are you Kenneth McCormick?"_

" _Yep," I say, lighting a cigarette. "And you are?"_

" _I am the Rogue," the boy said, fanning my smoke away. "But you can call me Gregory. Now please, follow me."_

" _Hold it," I snap, taking another drag of the cigarette. "Where are we going?"_

" _To headquarters," Gregory said, starting to walk. "'Tophe wants you to learn everything about Kyle."_

"' _Tophe?" I ask, not buying his 'Rogue' thing. "Christophe?"_

" _Yes," Gregory nods, speeding up his pace. "Now hurry, before others come."_


	7. Stan

_It had always been there, gnawing at the back of my mind, a constant feeling that something was wrong. I should have listened, tried to understand, but I was scared. I was scared of what I might have discovered if I looked too closely._

_I should have listened. If I had, my relationship with Wendy might have been saved. I should have looked, found the signs of distress. Then maybe she would have stayed with me._

_Wendy…_

_Her name caresses me like the wind caresses the leaves of a tree. Her soft sweet touches, the curve of her smile, they still haunt me. She's like a poison, subtle and deadly._

_God I hate her!_

_God I love her…_

_I love her so much it aches, a continuous throb. Why was such a beauty destined to break **my** heart? For now, I feel the pieces are so small; I could never piece it back together._

The silver fork lay on the table, reflecting, teasing. Kyle looked at it and glared. Why was the fork allowed to lie there, lording it over him, while he was sitting bored out of his mind?

"Darling," a voice purred, rolling the 'r', "that necklace is fabulous!"

Kyle sighed; it seemed like there was no intelligent conversation in the restaurant, not that he was contributing any. Kyle looked around at the other people, trying to figure out the differences. He frowned. It seemed like there were no differences, no variations, just the endless swirl of brown and black.

"Kyle," Christophe said, his thick accent smothering Kyle's thoughts, "are you ready to order?"

"Yes," Kyle muttered, letting his eyes wander the menu. As he read, he gasped, as the prices were expensive. "Christophe, this is rather expensive. Are you sure you want to eat here? I don't mind if we go somewhere else…"

"Don't worry Kyle," Christophe said, shrugging Kyle off. "I'm a mercenary, I can afford it."

"Sure?" Kyle murmured, avoiding Christophe's gaze.

"Sure."

He stood outside the window, his breath leaving a blurry cloud on the cold glass. It was cold that evening in South Park. It was always cold in South Park. He loved the cold; it made him feel alive, just like Kyle Broflovski did.

_Kyle…_

The name blew over him like a summer's breeze, cold and gentle. An evil grin graced his face, Kyle Broflovski would be – was his. Hadn't he already had him already?

' _More than that impotent Frenchman has_ ,' he thought to himself, chuckling.

As he stared into the restaurant, his anger began to grow. He couldn't understand, couldn't come to grips that Kyle was sitting in a restaurant with _him_. The French bastard who had stopped him from completely taking what was rightfully his.

_Broflovski…_

Letting out a sigh, he kicked the wall. He knew that he would have to make that Frenchman pay if he wanted to get Kyle for himself. And for Kyle, he'd do anything.

"God I'm hungry," Kyle groaned, running a hand through his fiery red hair.

"There's no point talking to God," Christophe said, his accent rolling off his tongue. "He's a bastard, he won't listen to you."

"When is our food getting here?" Kyle whined ignoring Christophe's rambling. "I'm starving."

"Soon Kyle," Christophe said, reaching out to touch Kyle's hand. "Soon."

"What was that?" Kyle whispered, wrenching his hand away.

"My hand."

"No," Kyle said, panicking. He looked out the window and saw someone staring back. "The window."

"Kyle?" Christophe asked, following Kyle's gaze. "What's wrong?"

"It's him," Kyle whispered, watching as the person walked away. "He was there, at the window."

"Huh?" Christophe said, reaching out to stroke Kyle's hair.

"Do you remember the party?" Kyle asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. "The one that Cartman threw at the start of the school year?"

Kyle bit his lip, relishing the coppery taste of blood. He stared into Christophe's amber eyes, which were filled with radiating warmth. Breaking away he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't worry 'Tophe," Kyle murmured, deciding that he couldn't talk about it. "It's nothing."

"You bit your lip," Christophe said, moving his chair next to Kyle's. "You're bleeding and you're upset. Just tell me-"

"Pardon monsieurs," a waiter interrupted, his accent obviously fake. "Dinner is served."

"Where to now?" Christophe said, leading Kyle towards his motorbike. "We still have an hour before the show begins."

"We do?" Kyle said, shocked that dinner hadn't taken as long as he thought. "I thought dinner was longer…"

"So did I," Christophe agreed, throwing Kyle a helmet. "What with you talking the entire time we were in there."

"Sorry," Kyle said, glaring at Christophe. "I didn't feel like talking."

"So," Christophe said, stepping over his motorcycle. "You want to talk?"

"Yes…" Kyle trailed off, wondering where the conversation was heading. "What do you have in mind?"

"Just hop on," Christophe said, starting the motorbike, "and wait and see."

As the motorbike came to a halt, Kyle felt the feeling of pleasure in his stomach subside. He let go of Christophe's waist, knowing that it would be awkward if he didn't have an excuse to hold him. Slowly, he got off the bike, trying not to look silly, which was rather hard considering the look Christophe was giving him.

"What?" Kyle questioned, both feet plated firmly on the ground. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Christophe answered, walking away. "Come on Kyle!"

Kyle watched as Christophe walked away from him, studying the taller French boy. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to follow; he didn't want to be left alone in a strange place. Not after what had happened.

"Where are we going?" Kyle asked as he finally caught up to the larger boy.

"Just wait and see Kyle, we are nearly there."

"But I want to know now," Kyle complained, feeling a shiver run down his side.

"Look around," Christophe said, grasping Kyle's hand. "We're already here."

Kyle looked around, amazed at what he saw. They were in a part of South Park he had never seen before; it was beautiful. It seemed like they were standing in the middle of an endless forest, with a glass lake in front of them.

"How did I ever miss this place?" Kyle murmured, liking the way he felt.

"If you don't look for something," Christophe began, wrapping an arm around Kyle. "You won't know that it exists."

Kyle looked into the older boys eyes; he could feel Christophe's amber eyes looking into his. Slowly, Kyle traced his tongue around his lips, gently wetting them. As if in a dream, Kyle felt the other boy's lips against his and gasped.

"Oh God," Christophe said, drawing away from Kyle. "I'm so sorry Ky-"

"Shhh…" Kyle interrupted, pressing a finger against Christophe's lips and kissing him gently. "I forgive you."

Kyle rested his head against the taller boy's chest, loving the warmth the larger boy radiated. ' _Oh wow,_ ' Kyle thought to himself, smiling. ' _I've never felt so happy._ '

 ** _This happiness cannot last._ **A voice hissed at the back of his mind. **_At least, not for you._**

' _No,_ ' Kyle thought, agreeing with the voice, ' _it can't last for me, but Christophe deserves to remember._ '

"Here," Kyle murmured, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a photograph of himself. "I want you to have this, so you don't forget."

"What?" Christophe said, studying the photograph. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," Kyle said, ignoring the French boy's comment. "We don't want to be late."

"Kyle!" Pip squeaked shrilly, running up and wrapping his arms around the red heads neck. "You came, you actually came!"

"He needs to breathe sometime Pip," Christophe muttered, lighting up a cigarette. "And someone needs to tell you people that 10 minutes isn't a long enough intermission."

"Ignore him Pip," Kyle said smoothly, prying himself away from the blonde boy. "'Tophe's just upset that he didn't get to smoke a packet during intermission."

"Tophe?" an unfamiliar voice said, sliding into the conversation. "Someone's actually given Christophe a nickname!"

"Shut it Lougie," Christophe hissed, his cigarette sagging slightly. "You try it and I'll knock your head through the wall."

"Oh please," the boy, Lougie, muttered. "Build a bridge and get over it, and please don't call me Lougie." He turned to Kyle and smiled. "You must be Kyle Broflovski, Christophe told me all about you. Call me Rogue."

"Hi…" Kyle trailed off, shaking the other boy's hand. "What has 'Tophe been saying about me?"

"Nothing much," the blonde boy answered, tucking a blonde curl behind his ear. "He does like to talk about you and the showers in the locker room at school though."

"Wha?"

"Gregory here," Christophe said, jerking a thumb at Rogue, "is just telling lies again, and he knows what happens to people who tell lies about me."

"Christophe here," Rogue muttered, poking the French boy, "just doesn't know when to shut up or how to control his temper."

"So, Christophe," Pip squeaked, reminding the boys that he was still there. "How much bigger than you is Kyle?"

_I've always been a tolerant person; it's the one thing my sister attributed to. I suppose that my tolerance has been my downfall, my betrayal. If I wasn't so tolerant, I would have gotten rid of Cartman, and all of my problems wouldn't exist._

_Ugh!_

_Who am I kidding? Nobody except myself. So why do I even bother?_

_I do realise it's my fault, Kyle slitting his wrists… There's no other explanation. I used him for my own personal satisfaction, as revenge on Wendy. I shouldn't have done it, I should not have gotten angry, but I did. I can't blame anybody else for my problems._

_When I get angry, I get irrational. Doesn't everybody? I'm normal, aren't I?_

_I don't know… I don't know about anything anymore… I'm so confused, I feel like my life has been torn apart by all the anger and hatred in the world. And I'm only fuelling it._

Christophe leant against the wall, a lit cigarette in one hand, his gun in the other. School was over for the day, it was time to relax. Christophe couldn't relax though, he'd been summoned. Christophe sighed, dropping his cigarette and killing it in the snow. Mercenary work wasn't always easy, and it certainly wasn't a clean business, but at least it paid well.

"Christophe," a girl with chocolate brown hair and blue eyes purred. "I've been looking for you."

"Katherine," Christophe said, acknowledging the girl. "What do you want?"

"Don't be like that," Katherine pouted, sliding her body against Christophe's. "I've missed you."

"You didn't miss me," Christophe muttered, his accent thick. "You miss my dick, I'm just attached."

"Aww, come on," Catherine said, running her hand across Christophe's chest, "We had _lots_ of fun together."

"You're the one who fucked McCormick," Christophe spat, pushing the girl away. "You ended it."

" _You_ didn't pay me any attention," she snapped, frustrated with the French boy. "You were too wrapped up in that Jewish kid, I had to find my fun elsewhere."

"Well good," Christophe said, growing impatient with his ex, "you can continue to find that fun elsewhere. I have a client to meet"

"Suit yourself," Katherine said, throwing her long, brown, hair over her shoulder. "But don't come crawling back to me when that Jewish kid rejects you."

Christophe opened his mouth to return an equally spiteful comment, but she had gone. He let out a groan, how he hated that girl. He loved Katherine once; at least he thought he did. But she was a mean as she was beautiful, and craved attention. Unlike Kyle…

_Kyle…_

Christophe reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo Kyle had given him earlier. A happy boy with deep red hair and bright green eyes smiled out of the photo at him. Christophe stared at the photo and frowned. The eyes were different, the eyes were wrong.

He knew that the Kyle in the photograph was the Kyle he met again during that first P.E. lesson so long ago; this Kyle radiated innocence and warmth. But the Kyle he knew and loved was different: his eyes weren't that vibrant, lively green. That vibrant green had died; it had been taken from him.

"Mole," a gruff voice hissed, interrupting the French boy's thoughts. "What are you doing with that?"

"Kyle gave it to me," Christophe muttered, shoving the photo in his pocket. "What do you want?"

"I want Kyle," the person hissed, taking a step towards Christophe. "I want you to leave South Park and die."

"Kyle doesn't want you," Christophe snarled at the other boy, taking a step back. "And I'm not going to leave him."

"You took _him_ from me," the other boys snarled, pulling out a gun. "Now, I'm going to take you away."

Christophe ducked the first shot, quickly running towards his parked motorbike. He could hear the sharp cackle of the other boy following him. He scrambled on top of the bike, quickly putting his helmet on and revving the large machine.

"You can't run from me," Christophe heard the other person scream as he sped away.

He heard a shot, and then felt a searing pain against his side; it burned. But he decided to keep on riding anyway, focusing his attention on the road until he reached safety. And the safest place he knew was Kyle's arms.

It was a lazy afternoon for Kyle, just relaxing on his bed, staring out the window. He liked to watch the other people on the street doing what they felt like. He watched as a motorbike pulled into the driveway.

"Christophe!" Kyle shouted out the window, waving at the French boy.

Quickly he ran down the stairs and out the front door. He practically jumped onto the larger boy and kissed him, not caring who saw. Pulling away and grinning, he led the larger boy into the house and into his room.

"Christophe," Kyle said, sitting down on his bed and dragging the larger boy down beside him. "What are you doing here?"

"Kyle," Christophe said, his hands clutching against his side. " _Shit!_ It hurts."

Kyle slowly caressed the larger boy's hands, coaxing him to remove them. He gently pried the larger boy's hands away from his side and gasped. _Blood_ , thick and beautiful.

"God Christophe," Kyle whispered eyes wide with tears. "You're bleeding. He did this to you didn't he? He knows about us doesn't he?"

"Shhh, Kyle, you're babbling," Christophe said, wincing slightly. "It's just a scratch, I'll be fine."

"Just a scratch?" Kyle shouted, running a hand through his hair, you're bleeding.

"Don't worry, _mon amour_ ," Christophe said, attempting to sit up. "I've had worse."

"Shit," Kyle said, forcing the larger boy to lie down. "Just stay here and I'll go find the first aid kit."

Kyle ran out of the room, ignoring Christophe's protests. He knew the first aid kit was in the bathroom, his mother had told him that when Ike broke his arm. He ran into the bathroom and flung open the cabinet, trying to find the kit. As soon as he laid his hands on the small red and white box, he rushed back to his room, hoping that Christophe hadn't passed out.

"I'm back," Kyle murmured, placing the kit on his bed and pulling out a bandage. "I need to take off your shirt."

"If you want to have sex with me Kyle," Christophe said, letting Kyle remove his shirt, "all you have to do is ask."

"Quiet, you," Kyle said, swatting at the French boys hands. "Let's get you bandaged up, _then_ we can think about sex."

" _Oui, mon amour_."

"Christophe?" Kyle asked, resting his head against the larger, now bandaged, boy's chest. "Do you dream?"

"I don't know, _mon amour_ ," Christophe purred, his accent rolling off his tongue. "I don't remember anything from my sleep, so I assume I dream. Why do you ask?"

"Remember what happened at the party?" Kyle said, licking his lips. "I dream about that a lot."

"Kyle-"

"I know you know what happened," Kyle murmured, interrupting the French boy. "I know you are the one who rescued me, who got me out of there."

"You do?" Christophe asked. "How?"

"I just do," Kyle murmured, tilting his head to kiss the larger boy. "I dream about you a lot… But this dream was different."

"Tell me your dream."

"It began at school, we were in P.E., running around and having fun. You… _kissed me_ … then I sneezed and you said _Gesundheit_. Which is Hebrew for good health… Oh, I'm getting off topic, back to my dream.

"After you left I sat on the grass, and a butterfly flew past, and weeds sprouted. So I began to pull them out, one by one, the pricked my hand and caused them to bleed. Then there was only one left, so I bent over to pull it out. Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed my waist and flipped me over; I was effectively pinned to the ground.

"Then _he_ was on top of me, staring down with lust filled eyes. He had an evil smirk on his lips and an evil gleam in his eyes. I struggled, but it didn't affect him.

"' _Now beautiful one_ ,' He said, whispering into my ear. ' _I don't know how you became so pretty, but I know I want to be **inside** you._'

"I began to struggle again, but my struggling turned him on. It was a disgusting hardness which burned my flesh. I cried tears which stung my face, but he didn't care. He always gets whatever he wants.

"He dragged me down the street, we passed many people but they didn't look at us, they didn't care. He dragged me all the way to my place and into my bedroom. He inserted one of his favourite CDs into my player and played it at full volume so no one could hear…

"Then he flung me on the bed and…" Kyle trailed off, sobbing into Christophe's chest. "He _raped_ me… Oh God 'Tophe… He actually _raped_ me."

"Oh _God_ , Kyle," Christophe murmured, stroking the soft red hair. "That fucking bastard will pay, I swear he will pay."

"Do you swear it 'Tophe?" Kyle asked, tears streaming down his face. "Do you swear that he will pay?"

"I swear it Kyle," Christophe replied, gently kissing the smaller boy. "I swear it on my life that that fucking ass-wipe will pay for what he's done to you."

"Christophe?" Kyle whispered into the French boy's chest. "Make me forget, please make me forget."

"Kyle," Christophe said, gulping. "A-Are you sure?"

"I-I-I," Kyle stuttered, sobbing into Christophe's chest. "Please, I love you."

_Why did I do it? Why did I feel the need to destroy? Why did I involve him?_

_I did it for Wendy, to make her realise that I too had moved on. I wanted to make her feel jealous, I wanted her to feel as I felt, broken hearted and lifeless. I wanted her to question her value, her worth. Just as I had when this whole mess begun._

_I was hurt, destroyed, so I needed to hurt and destroy. I didn't think before I acted, I didn't realise the effects of my actions. Well how could I? Hatred clouded my vision; jealousy drove me to madness… to Kyle._

_Kyle…_

_He's always been my friend, and I… I don't even want to think about it. It sickens me, makes my skin crawl. I still can't believe what I did: I used him like a rag. I'm so disappointed in myself, and in the world… Somehow, even now, I feel that it isn't my entire fault._

_It's Wendy's._


	8. Eric

_People have always said I was a 'bad guy', I guy who was selfish and only thought about himself. Well la de da! They were right. But fuck them, no seriously, fuck them. Who really gives a fuck about them? They can go protest somewhere else cause I really don't give a damn._

_But like they listen. They're probably going to do a voodoo dance, you know, try to release the so-called 'evil' inside me. Oh well, like it's gonna effect me, cause it's not. I'm a god, I'm unstoppable._

_There's nothing they can really do about it._

"Then he flung me on the bed and…" Kyle trailed off, sobbing into Christophe's chest. "He _raped_ me… Oh God Tophe… He actually _raped_ me."

"Oh _God_ , Kyle," Christophe murmured, stroking the soft red hair. "That fucking bastard will pay, I swear he will pay."

"Do you swear it Tophe?" Kyle asked, tears streaming down his face. "Do you swear that he will pay?"

"I swear it Kyle," Christophe replied, gently kissing the smaller boy. "I swear it on my life that that fucking ass-wipe will pay for what he's done to you."

"Christophe?" Kyle whispered into the French boy's chest. "Make me forget, please make me forget."

"Kyle," Christophe said, gulping. "A-Are you sure?"

"I-I-I," Kyle stuttered, sobbing into Christophe's chest. "Please, I love you."

Kyle tilted his head back, letting Christophe kiss him deeply. He smiled as the French boy grasped his pants and removed them. He whimpered as Christophe broke the kiss to unbuckle his belt and remove his own pants.

As Christophe kissed him again, Kyle arched his hips in rhythm with Christophe's. He could feel the larger boy's hardness straining against his boxers, but his kiss was irresistibly cool and controlled. Kyle moaned as the French boy's fingers slowly massaged his backside. Kyle bit his lip and fought back a moan, trying to keep his voice down. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, while Christophe's breathing was slower and more controlled.

With a shudder of pleasure, Christophe rolled the smaller boy over so he was on top. Kyle placed a hand on the bed head for support, the other he tangled in the French boy's hair. Christophe's kissed were venturing further down Kyle's stomach, his hands slowly massaging the redheads flesh.

"Have you done this before?" Kyle gasped as Christophe kissed his stomach.

Thrown off, Christophe looked up. He hesitated for half an instant. "Does it matter?"

"Of course not," Kyle said, running a finger over Christophe's cheek. "But, well… I don't have a lot of experience, and it sure wasn't with a guy."

"Second thoughts?" Christophe said gently, his hand sliding affectionately up Kyle's shoulder. Kyle was amazed at Christophe's self-control, especially since he wanted to devour the French boy.

"Well, I…" Kyle murmured, trying not to sound embarrassed. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Oh, that," Christophe scoffed. "I was just going to try poking things in various places and see what happened." Kyle's mouth dropped open, and Christophe, eyes dancing, calmly inserted his forefinger in between Kyle's teeth.

"For example," Christophe said, smiling. Kyle gasped as Christophe's mouth engulfed his throbbing flesh, entwining both hands in the larger boy's hair. He moaned, letting his eyes close, giving himself over to the pure ecstasy of the French Boy's mouth.

Kyle snuggled into the warmth of the larger boy, a lopsided grin on his face. He was so happy, the sleeping boy had seen to it. For once he felt peaceful and loved, even if it was for a single moment.

"Why are you awake _mon amour_?" Christophe murmured, wrapping his arms around. "You should be sleeping."

"Why are you awake _Ahava_?" Kyle murmured, snuggling into Christophe's neck. "You did most of the work."

"You did as much as I did _mon amour_ ," Christophe said, yawning. "What's _Ahava_?"

"It's Hebrew," Kyle giggled. "For love."

"Mmm," Christophe smiled, gently stroking the smaller boy. "Now sleep, I would rather we got some rest before we get up."

"Why?" Kyle questioned, trying not to fall asleep.

"I'd rather not have to explain this to your mother," Christophe replied, planting a gentle kiss on the smaller boy's forehead.

"Point taken."

"Kyle," Christophe whispered, shaking the smaller boy. "Time to wake up."

"I don't wanna," Kyle groaned rolling over to hug the larger boy. "I wanna stay like this forever."

"So do I _mon amour_ ," Christophe murmured, kissing the smaller boy. "But your parents will be home at any minute."

"Kyle?" Kyle's mother shouted on cue. "We're home!"

Kyle let the taller boy go, scrambling for his clothes. Finding his boxers, he wiped them on his sheets, knowing that he would have to wash them before his mother found them. He found Christophe's shirt and threw it to him.

"Hurry," Kyle spat, pulling his trousers over his hips. "Before my mother walks in."

"Done," Christophe smirked, leaning against the wall. "You should start panicking."

"Kyle," His mother shouted, coming down the hall. "I bought you a new shirt."

"Don't say anything," Kyle hissed, putting on his now soiled shirt. "I can see you smirking."

"I wasn't going to _mon amour_ ," Christophe said, brushing Kyle's fringe off his face.

"Kyle-" His mother said, opening the door. "Oh, I didn't realise you had a guest."

"Mum, this is Christophe," Kyle said, huddling against the taller boy. "He's the one who owns the motorcycle."

"Oh _him_ ," Kyle's mother spat, glaring at Christophe. "I want him out of the house in five minutes."

"Yes, mom."

"Sorry about that," Kyle said, walking Christophe to his motorbike. "My mother hasn't realised I'm not eight years old anymore."

"I know what you mean," Christophe purred, his accent thick. "My mother still doesn't want to admit I'm never going to believe in God."

"Parents are like that," Kyle sighed, running a hand through their head. " _People_ are like that. The don't want to admit when something's changing, so it gnaws at them. It gnaws and it gnaws till finally they crack and the blood begins to poor."

"Kyle?" Christophe whispered, pressing his forehead against the other boys. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"N-no!" Kyle snapped, pulling away from the French boy. "I'm not hiding anything, I'm not. Why do you always ask questions and spoil the mood? Just leave me alone!"

"Kyle," Christophe murmured, trying to grab the smaller boy. "You're not making sense."

"Sorry," Kyle said, kissing the larger boy. "I'm just stressed."

"It's okay," Christophe hushed, pulling Kyle into his embrace. "It'll all be okay."

_When people ask me about my weakness, I just shrug. I have no weakness. Why should I? God doesn't have a weakness, and I am a God after all._

_And what a God! It's no wonder Wendy worships me; she worships me on her knees. She's gotten very good at worshiping me, she makes me feel good. What a little whore she's become, a cock craving whore._

_If she stayed with Stan, she'd still be little miss 'look at me, I'm perfect'. She wouldn't crave cock. But she chose me, and now she craves my cock, and I suppose she craves the rest of me._

_Who wouldn't I'm a God after all._

Kyle sat on the swing, gently pushing himself back and forward. He used his feet to make the swing rock awkwardly to mirror his thoughts. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted to achieve emptiness.

"Hey."

"Hey," Kyle replied, turning to face the familiar voice.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Kyle murmured, not really wanting to talk.

"Am I going to get a multi-word answer?"

"No," Kyle said, not letting his eyes meet the other boys.

"Why not?" The boy said, sitting on the swing beside Kyle. "Don't you trust me?"

" _Bitachon…_ " Kyle trailed, slowly swinging.

"Bitackkon? What does that mean."

" _Bitachon_ , Tophe," Kyle murmured, making the swing stop. "It means trust."

"What?" Christophe said, his accent rolling off his tongue. "Don't you trust me?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Kyle muttered, standing up. "I don't trust myself."

"Kyle?"

"Just fuck off!" Kyle shouted, not knowing why. "I don't fucking want you here. You fucking piece of shit."

"What the fuck did I do wrong?" Christophe shouted back.

"Nothing…" Kyle trailed, turning and walking away. "Everything… Just fuck off and leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for your romantic French bullshit of _mon amour_. Just find a fucking asshole who fucking gives a damn. Because I don't."

Kyle turned to face the French boy, wondering why he shouted at Christophe. He couldn't understand himself, his own thoughts, nothing. Just an endless pit of nothingness…

"Leave then," Christophe shouted, each word slicing into Kyle's heart. "But don't come crying back to me when life fucks you over."

Cartman watched as Christophe stormed away from Kyle, smirking at the two boys misfortune. He could have killed him then and even the French boy might not have known it. But something stopped him, Kyle.

There were dark bags under Kyle's eyes and his free arm was curled over his stomach. Cartman moved forward. He could see the tears sliding down the red-heads cheeks. He had obviously been crying.

"Poor Kyle," Cartman snarled, sitting down beside the red head. "You've pushed away the only person who truly loves you."

"Fuck off," Kyle spat, looking directly into the other boy's eyes. "What do you know?"

"I know that you're here and he's not," Cartman purred, pushing Kyle to the ground and pressing his groin against the smaller boy's. "So we can finish what we began so long ago."

"No…" Kyle whispered, his eyes growing wide. "I won't let you."

"And this time," Cartman continued, unzipping his fly. "No French asswipe to rescue you."

Kyle felt the larger boy place a hand over his mouth, blocking any sounds of protest that he made. He knew that it was all over, everything he'd ever known was to be ruined.

"This time there's no escape," Cartman hissed, freeing his hardness and removing Kyle's pants. "This time it's just _you_ and _me._ "

Cartman shoved a leg between Kyle's knees, prying him open. He watched as Kyle gasped for air, preparing to scream again. Cartman ripped Kyle's pants off and shoved them in his mouth, fulling suffocating any noise the smaller boy could make.

"Fuck you look sexy," Cartman murmured, trailing a finger down the red heads cheek.

Cartman positioned himself at Kyle's entrance, his body couldn't wait. As he entered Kyle, he bit down on the smaller boy's shoulder, stifling his moan of arousal. He had waited too long, and it was going to be over too soon.

With a final thrust, Cartman released his seed, collapsing on top of the smaller boy. He pulled out of the smaller boy and grabbed Kyle's pants, wrenching them out of the smaller boy's mouth. Using Kyle's pants, he cleaned himself up and pulled up his own pants.

"See you next time Kyle," he snarled, throwing Kyle's dirty pants on top of the smaller boy. "Hopefully it'll be better than this."

Cartman took a final look at Kyle, watching as the Jewish boy curled into a small ball. Smirking he walked away, a slight skip in his step. Finally, he had gotten what he wanted. He had gotten Kyle.

Kyle stumbled down the street, his body shaking too much to control. He felt violated and dirty, more so than usual. His head was clouded with images of the afternoon; they were making his head pulse.

As he made his way through the front door, he ignored his brother's whines. As he made his way up the stairs, he ignored his mother's screams. And as he slammed his bedroom door he ignored his father's questions.

He lay down on his bed, inhaling the small of the French boy who had lain there yesterday afternoon. A tear ran down his cheek, Christophe wouldn't love him now, not after what had happened. Kyle sobbed, climbing under the covers and laying down.

' _Tomorrow_ ,' He thought as he drifted off to sleep. ' _Everything will end tomorrow._ '

_Kyle doesn't crave me, he craves French pussy. He thinks that I don't know, that I haven't realised. But he's forgotten one thing, I'm a God I see everything._

_Fuck, I want him; I want him so bad I'm hard at the sound of his voice. I've had him once, but the fucking French pussy ruined the moment. Kyle thinks that the French poof is his saviour, but nothing will save him from me. Even as he lies in bed, after he's slit his wrists, he's still alive._

_I've willed him alive._

_Wendy was furious; she knows I crave him. Sometimes we role-play; she hates it. But she craves me so that doesn't matter. It's the only way I'll have her sometimes… otherwise I'll leave her horny and unfulfilled._

_Cause that's the kind of guy that I am._


	9. Kyle

I can hear the slow beeping of the machine, the mumbled whispers of the people surrounding me. I'm still in hospital, but I don't know why. Maybe they haven't realised that there's no hope for me. It's sad, pathetic even.

Why are they still here, it's so easy to leave. Even I don't want to be here, but I know this is the last place I'll ever see. I'm not willing to try, not anymore. Maybe if this happened a few weeks ago I would have. I was happy – well… sort of.

My mother is crying, I can hear her sobs. She'll miss me the most, I can feel it still. Even though she was strict, I knew that she loved me, that she was only doing what was best. She is my mother, and there will always be a part of my, and I will always be a part of her.

I hope that that thought comforts her…

Mums leaving now, with my father, I suppose neither of them can take it anymore. I'm the last of the Broflovski's, the last of the bloodline, after me it'll be gone, lost forever. I suppose that's good in a way, our family seems to be connected with bad luck.

He's laughing now, that cackle which only I know as twisted. He should be happy, they all should be. They all drove me to do this. All of them, too selfish to care that I was withering, dying as they played their pathetic little games. All but one of them; Christophe. But I'm too far gone for him to pull me back this time, my love, my saviour, the only one I'll regret leaving behind.

_Kyle…_

Even now, when I'm trying so hard to be dead to the world, he's there. He's calling my name, stroking my hand, even now I feel loved. He's thrown away the armour that he wears for society and is just himself around me, I'll always love him for that.

He kisses me, a sweet gentle kiss, the last we will ever share. He whispers sweet nothings into my ear and sobs, causing the little breath I have to hitch. He says good bye, pushing strands of hair behind my ear.

_I love you Kyle…_

**I love you too Tophe…** I croak. I don't know if he heard me, if anyone heard me. But at least I said it, because I do love him, my love, my saviour.

I feel someone else beside me, Ike… He talks to me, and acts if I'm talking back, like it's a normal day at school. I think he's the bravest of us all, my little brother. He'll be the one who follows his dreams all the way to the end, and I swear I'll be with him every step of the way. Just like I promised… Just like I promised.

Ike is gone now, obviously they're taking turns to say goodbye to me. It hurts me, probably more than it hurts them. I've already caused so much sorrow, what will happen when I finally die?

_See you later dude._

Kenny always made me laugh, the boy with the dirtiest mind in the world. I suppose I will see him soon, he's died more than most people I know. He probably holds a record or something… I'll miss him, but at least I know I'll see him again someday soon.

I hear Kenny laugh, and hear some slapping sounds. Oh my God, Kenny's gotten Kelly pregnant. A life for a life? Hopefully Kenny's kid has a better life than Kenny's has, or I'll meet him sooner thank expected.

It's Stan's turn now, I can feel his tears drip onto my face. He's sad, crying more than I thought he would. I know it shouldn't surprise me, he was one of my best friends after all.

_I'm sorry dude, this is all my fault… All my fault…_

He blames himself… He shouldn't, he only knows half of it. I shouldn't forgive him for using me to relieve his own guilt and sadness, but I do. At least I'm parting with him on good terms.

_Well Jew boy, It's just you… and **me**._

Stan has left; it's just me and him… That fucking asshole that put me here, that drove me to do this. This whole fucking mess his his fault.

_It's sad we never got to finish what we started, maybe I can when you're dead and rotting.  
_

**Fuck off Cartman!** I hiss, using the little breath I have left. He leaves, cackling as he exits. Finally, I can rest in peace.

_Kyle…_

A sweat voice purrs, causing my eyes to snap open. It's Wendy, she's standing in front of me, a white cloth in her hands.

_You don't want to stay here do you Kyle?_

Her voice is like ice, it cuts through me and freezes the wounds open. I look into her pretty green eyes, their filled with jealousy and something else… Lust?

_You want to die don't you Kyle? Just nod your head and I'll finish the job for you._

Lust? Lust for my death, so she can have both Cartman and Stan to herself. I slowly close my eyes, breathing in and out deeply. Then, I nod my head.

_Three… Two… One…_

I feel the white cloth that she was holding wrap around my neck. The cotton tearing at my neck, rubbing away the skin. I choke, I can't breath! I can't breathe… I eyes feel like they're burning, air is escaping from my lungs from anywhere possible. My head begins to pound I get dizzy.

The last thing I hear is the long beep of the machine, telling me that my heart has stopped, and that my life is at an end. _Finally…_


End file.
